Imagine growing infatuated with a tboy at your favorite cafe. You’ve heard it’s a faux pas to ask for a person’s number while they’re at work, so you wait until he clocks out for the night—and you rape him. Between the ski mask and your restraint in not making a sound, even when you were inside him, he never suspects that his rapist is the personable regular who likes to stop for a little chat a few times a week. So, you get to watch up close when he starts resting his hand on his belly, accentuating the ever-so-slight curve beneath his uniform. You note between one day and the next how he starts to properly waddle, your baby spreading his hips apart.
You make a point of coming by as often as you’re able, until finally he’s so round that his uniform doesn’t fit, a rubber band keeping his pants on and the stretch-marked flesh of his belly hanging past the hem of his shirt. You spend several hours pretending to work as you hungrily watch him struggle behind the counter, the burden you left in his womb rendering him unable to reach cabinets or lean over sinks, and making him an obstacle to everyone else working. When you spot him pausing to wince and grip his belly more than once, you know it’s time.
The cafe staff have started leaving in pairs to prevent anything from happening again. But that’s not a problem for you. You’re already waiting at his house when he gets home. You overwhelm him easily. Still disguised, you ignore his begging to know what’s going on as you start to tie him up. You practiced these knots on a mannequin over and over, so even with his struggling, you tie the harness on him flawlessly. It criss-crosses around his contracting belly and his engorged tits, which you take your time appreciating, but what’s really important are the ropes crossed over his puffy cunt.
Soon, he ceases struggling as labor demands all of his energy. He keeps appealing to you, excessive babbling pleas at first, then hoarse sobs between pushes. Then, the beautiful moment you’ve been waiting for. Either he doesn’t remember the harness or thinks he can circumvent it, because he grunts lowly and keeps pushing. You watch, mesmerized, as the ropes strain around his bulging cunt lips, and the head of the baby crowns. For a second, you think you left too much give and he’ll be able to get it out. But as soon as he stops to gasp for breath, the ropes shove the head back into him. He thrashes his head and wails in agony.
It’s all you ever dreamed of.
He screams with increasing horror that he needs to give birth, he needs the baby out, and you just nod. He’ll get to push it out when you’re done with him. Not that you would ever be done with him if you could help it, but you will have to leave for work, eventually. Still, that’s Monday. Now, you’re spending an unforgettable Friday night watching a boy try and fail to scream out your rape baby. His belly seizing, his face nearly purple with the strain, his cunt bulging so beautifully around the head… Fuck, it’s going to be a good weekend.
this is the hottest thing ive ever read thank you anon
ruthlessly fingering you while you give birth and mocking, "go on, push. i know you want the baby out, so just fucking push. why are you crying? don't you want to give birth? don't you want to get it out of you? then why aren't you pushing? can't you take it? you were made for this. you can take it. stop squirming. can you fit another finger? yes you can, don't lie to me. you're about to fit an entire baby through. you're such a little bitch, listen to those sobs. why did you stop pushing? do you want to give birth or not? well that's too fucking bad because it's happening. keep pushing."
A horse boy working on a huge ranch gets called into the boss’s office one day. He already knows what it’s going to be about; he’s been falling behind on his duties. A head shorter and probably a hundred pounds lighter than the stallion guys who work the ranch, he can’t hope to keep up with the workload. Where they’re all glistening muscles and endless stamina, he’s twiggy and tires easily, still as ungainly as a foal.
So, he enters the boss’s office with his ears back and his tail twitching in anxiety, expecting to be fired. What he doesn’t expect is for her to have his employee file open and start asking questions about his pedigree papers. His face warms as he confirms that, yes, he comes from a breeding family. He tries to tactfully cut off any ideas she has about him having some massive stud cock, but she waves him off, saying that yes, yes, she knows about his “situation.” He doesn’t know if he’s ever heard his pussy called a “situation” before, and he doesn’t know why it makes him squirm in his seat.
Finally, she offers him a transfer to working in husbandry. Grateful to still have a job, he signs the new contract without asking questions—a choice he regrets when he reports for his first shift in husbandry and the boss tells him to pull his pants down. He’s thankful that the breeding bench she straps him into faces away from her, keeping her from seeing his welling tears. He has to bite his lips to keep from sobbing in humiliation when she presses a high-powered vibe to his pussy.
She wrings four orgasms out of him in minutes, leaving him trembling and overstimulated by the time she forces the tip of the insemination gun into his cervix. He screams and jerks, the velcro restraints creaking as he instinctively tries to escape his fate. But he’s already signed his womb away, and he must endure the discomfort and nausea as it fills with so much semen that his slim belly bloats a little. With a jovial pat on the ass, the boss unstraps him and tells him to “keep his rump up” for ten minutes, then clean up and meet her in the stables.
As he lies there, catching his breath through his sniffles and waiting for some stranger’s cum to impregnate him, he has to reflect on how much sense it all makes. After all, if he can’t be a useful workhorse, he might as well make one, right? He wonders if the sample might have come from one of his coworkers, and his tender pussy clenches. Trying to forget the violation of the insemination gun, he imagines what it would have been like to be bred by the handsome Percheron who used to help him when he’d fall behind, whose jeans always strained so tantalizingly over what must be a gorgeous stallion cock.
But a cramp flaring in his cervix brings him back to reality. This isn’t some paperback breeding fantasy. This is his job. It’s not going to be sexy. In fact, it’s probably going to suck.
The morning sickness proves him right by hitting hard and fast, leaving him feeble and gray-faced for the first few weeks of his new position. Because he’s not just a breeder, no—he also actually has to work husbandry with the animal horses. Luckily the husbandry supervisor takes one look at him and relegates him to foal watch, which consists entirely of sitting with full-term mares and radioing someone more qualified when they’re ready to foal. It’s excruciatingly boring, but considering that he’s exhausted just sitting there, he’s grateful that he doesn’t have to do any real work while this pregnancy takes so much out of him.
In no time at all, his clothes grow tight against the swelling curve of his belly. He spends most of his days shyly tugging down his shirt when it rides up, but soon everyone expects to see a strip of stretch-marked tummy peeking over his jeans. The ranch provides big, branded sweat sets with nice, roomy elastic, but even those end up riding apart within a few more weeks. Despite keeping his head down when he walks around the ranch, he can feel everyone’s eyes on his exposed tummy.
At only 6 months, he looks ready to pop, having to walk with his hips swayed forward and his shoulders thrown back to account for the massive bump hanging off his slim frame. The child is heavy—and strong, too. It kicks so hard that people can see from across the room as the whole shape of his belly distorts around its powerful limbs. He can often be seen groaning and rubbing at the mottled flesh, wincing as his hands pass over the purple patches where his unsightly varicose veins have broken from the commotion inside.
In the coming weeks, he wakes up bigger every morning. He’s sure he can’t possibly be growing as fast as it seems, but the increasing pressure in his pelvis and the strain on his joints confirm it. His legs shake under him when he walks, hips forced so wide that he constantly fears they’ll pop from their sockets. His ankles are so swollen that it looks like he’s wearing leg warmers beneath his sweatpants. He doesn’t waddle so much as shuffle, unable to decide if he needs a hand to support his back, or if both of them need to be under his belly. His silhouette reminds him of a photo he once saw of a woman carrying triplets, bump jutting like an oblong watermelon out from under her shirt. He might be even bigger than that.
His boss doesn’t tell him much about his own pregnancy, and by his 30-week checkup, he’s started to worry that she didn’t bother to inform him that he’s having high-order multiples. Nervously, he asks how many foals he’s carrying. She happily confirms it’s only one, and his stomach drops, such as it can, realizing only now that multiples would be preferable with a belly like this. He asks how that can be possible when he’s so big, and she tells him that’s what a belly looks like when it’s got a 25lb foal in it!
While his jaw hangs open, she prattles on, saying how proud she is of him for doubling the foal’s size in the last six weeks. She informs him the growth will continue at a similar rate, at which point he finds enough worlds to tell her in a panic that he can barely get out of bed now! He’s going to be practically immobile if he gets any bigger!
That’s how he gets moved from his room to the breeding stables. When he first hears of the change, he legitimately thinks they’re going to put him in a stall with the animal horses for a moment, so he’s actually relieved when he finds out they’re going to convert the medical room where he’s been getting his checkups into a bedroom for him. His boss moves some new equipment in, and it ends up being relatively livable, though not homely. He doesn’t like sleeping in a hospital bed, but as his womb grows heavier and heavier, he concedes that he wouldn’t be able to get up without the power-adjusting and the bars on the sides.
He’s relieved when they provide him with a walker, though when he realizes the modified shelf on it is for his belly to rest on, he’s too embarrassed to use it for a few days. When he finally gives in, though, the relief is too great to really care. It may make him a spectacle, an otherwise-small boy with the unsightly, misshapen growth of his gut plopped proudly on a pedestal in front of him, but it takes almost 30lbs of weight off of his lower back, so he lives with it. There is still a faint embarrassment to entering a room like this, his stretched-flat navel and the dark shock of a linea nigra bulging through the door before the rest of him waddles after, but it’s gotten to the point that he blushes under the attention.
And he really gets attention when the baby moves. Especially when his belly is resting on his walker, it distorts his bump so much that it’s hardly even round anymore, just skin stretched over constantly-shifting angles. It’s hurt more and more as the baby has grown, and now it’s almost unbearable, flurries of movement dealt with by clutching his sides and groaning, begging the child to stop moving.
He’s halfway through his 32nd week when the pain begins in his pelvic floor. Not the continuous ache he’s felt since he began to show, or even the seizing cramps that have grown more common as his ligaments are forced to stretch too fast, but something crueler, sharper. Something that digs into him from inside, making him yelp and grab at his pussy reflexively. He forgets the mare he’s been watching and radios his boss, telling her the baby is coming.
She meets him at the stables with a wheelchair and wheels him back to his room. Every bump feels like a knife in his cervix, little ah! ah! ah!s slipping out of him with each rock they roll over.
In his room, his boss gets him into his bed and deploys stirrups from the end. No stranger to them by now, he laboriously lifts his legs, groaning as he holds his belly up to keep it from falling between his thighs, and rests his heels in the stirrups. After a few minutes of prodding painfully at his pussy and cervix, the boss declares that it’s just a case of lightning crotch, and he shouldn’t expect labor until 40, maybe even 42 or 42 weeks. He blanches and cries that he can’t do this for another two months, let alone 10 more weeks! Really, they should have done the C-section a month before now, it’s simply absurd to be pregnant with a 40lb baby! What breed was the father, even? A Clydesdale? He knows Clydes-men can sire babies the size of toddlers, but this is insane! Is she sure it’s not twins?
The boss takes in his feverish dismay with a calm, almost amused look. Then she tells him she’s going to give him an IV for the pain. He’s in too much agony to think better of it.
Only a few minutes after she sets up the IV, he swims out of reality.
Consciousness comes in hints and slips. He feels sensations deep in his body, pressure and pain, and movement, so much movement, like he’s under the ocean and there’s more ocean inside of him, not quite deep enough for whatever’s trying to swim inside his body.
He hears voices, sees changing light, feels cold hands on his belly. Only once or twice does he gain enough consciousness to feel afraid or confused; mostly, it’s peaceful and quiet.
When he finally wakes up, the first thing he feels is the heaviness. It’s like nothing he’s experienced, a bone-creaking, organ-crushing pressure, a not-enough-room, like whatever is inside his body is so big that it’s going to push him out. His breaths come thin and small, the effort of each gasp driving him towards panic and causing more pain to spike deeper inside him. It feels like a tent peg is being hammered deep into his pelvis.
Finally, he notices that he’s sitting in a wheelchair, and there’s someone sitting in his lap. No—wait, fuck, it’s just him. He’s huge. No, he’s beyond huge, he’s—he can’t think of another word. His head is still swimming. His belly is so large now that it pins his legs to the sides of the chair and forces his rib cage back, so that he feels like it’s the thing sitting in the chair, and he just happens to be under it.
Then it shifts. A faded cry rises from his atrophied throat, and he shakes his head instinctively as he watches what looks like a goddamn 8 year old moving inside his belly. His chest—heavy and tender—jumps as he fights for air, whimpers eking out with every alien shift of his womb. Then it kicks, and he screams as he thinks for a moment that the foot will tear through his tummy. But it only ignites a sting of varicose veins and a burn of itching, over-stretched flesh.
The sharp agony flares deep inside him again- his cervix, he realizes- and he didn’t think anything could hurt this bad.
Then it gets worse.
Even in his disorientation, he knows it’s a contraction. Hard to think it’s anything else as he watches his bare belly tense, lifting ever so slightly and shrinking away from his thighs, tightening around an inscruitable shape inside of him. He groans wretchedly and tries to reach for his belly, only to find that his hands are velcroed to the chair. He just clings to the arm rests, and futilely tries to breathe through the tightness of the pain, the pressure, the screwing of something thick and serrated into his cervix.
When the contraction ends, he starts to cry softly, though it only makes the stabbing sensation deep inside feel worse.
Through the tears, he sees that he’s in some kind of husbandry stable, similar to the one at his job but clearly elsewhere. He’s so used to the scents of hay and manure that it didn’t even occur to him that those aren’t the kinds of things a person should be able to smell when they’re in labor.
Four contractions later, the door opens, and his boss appears.
“What the fuck did you do to me,” he sobs, in a broken, pathetic voice that can’t carry an ounce of his anger.
She tuts and checks a her phone. “I saved you from the ten most uncomfortable weeks of your life. And you got paid for them! You should be thankful.”
“You drugged me, and— augh!” His belly shifts massively, and he doesn’t get enough oxygen for a moment, panting. “What is this?! What’s happening?!”
She hums at something on the screen. “You’re in labor. We’ve got a buyer for your foal, but he has to see it come out of you.”
“Wh-what?! Why?!”
“Because that’s the whole point. Folk-carried thoroughbreds go for a pretty penny. You’re going to earn $300k today.”
“Wh- no, I don’t—“ he shakes his head, then makes a high, ragged sound at another jab against his cervix. “Fuck, it hurts so bad, something’s wrong!”
“Nothing’s wrong.”
He clenches his teeth. “It’s all wrong! Why the fuck is it so big?! How—“ He wheezes for air and tries not to sob. “How am I gonna get it out!?”
Finally, she looks up at him and actually focuses her attention, giving him an odd look. “Did you expect it to be smaller because you’re folk?”
“I- I expected it to be normal! It’s almost as big as me!”
“Oh, you’re exaggerating. She’s only 90 pounds.”
He feels sick. “Wh- what?!”
“That’s on the small side, honestly. The last foal from this sire was over a hundred. Though, that was from Missy.”
His ears start to ring. Missy. One of the mares he sat on watch with. A regular, four-legged horse. An animal.
A kick stretches his belly. He stares at it, the sharp shape suddenly clear to him. A hoof.
“No… no, no, no, I can’t, I— AUGH!”
His cervix screams and the sharp pain lances right into his lower spine. It’s starting to come out of his womb. Not a head, but—
“The hooves,” he whimpers, “fuck, the hooves are coming!”
“Oh, shoot. Where is he?” She looks impatiently at her watch. “Shit.” Then she turns and rushes out of the stable.
He pants, incredulous. He’s nothing but a broodmare to her. His womb the same as the animals they work with. Tears run down his face as he groans through the brutal contraction, through the terrible press of sharp keratin through his dilating cervix.
His seized-up belly softens, and though the awful sensation of the hooves pushing into his tailbone remains, it’s not as bad without the cramping. He sits there, trying not to sob, feeling so, so stupid. How did he not realize? He knew it was possible, he just…
Spending his time wishing he never signed that contract, he doesn’t expect the next contraction to come so soon. His eyes fly wide, and he groans with the sudden urge to push. A small noise of effort rises in his throat as his face screws up, his over-stretched abs struggling to tighten.
His noise grows louder as he feels a shift, the painful spread of his cervix, hooves digging into him like they might come out of his asshole instead. Whimpering in pain, he struggles to shove his hips forward, fighting the 90lbs of foal weighing down his lap. It’s impossible to get out from under his enormous breeder belly, but he does manage to at least scoot his butt forward, making more room to spread his thighs and creating a space for something to actually come out.
For the foal to come out.
The next contraction comes fast, and he finds that with his posture sunken like this it’s even harder to breathe. His head spins and the world darkens as he pushes. The sensation is so foreign yet shockingly clear as he feels himself steadily pushing the hooves out of his cervix, their angles stretching his pussy. He stops to gasp for air, then ducks his head and grunts as he keeps pushing. Oh, fuck, they’re starting to stretch his cunt. He clenches his teeth and spreads his legs, and manages to push them right to his entrance before the contraction ends. With the next one, the stretch sharpens and he keens high in the back of his throat as he feels like he might tear—
Then he births the hooves, only to feel them butt up against something. His eyes fly wide, and he starts to panic as he realizes he’s wearing some kind of bottoms. He didn’t even think about it, can’t see any of his body beyond his foal-filled belly.
“Shit,” he whimpers. He spends the whole time waiting for the next contraction trying to wriggle around, looking for some way to- to fix this, or— there. The resistance is suddenly gone, like the hooves are free of whatever they caught on. He has no idea how that worked, but he’ll take it. It isn’t until he’s pushing again that he realizes he managed to direct the hooves down one pant leg. He only has a moment to feel vaguely amused by the idea before pain ignites in his cervix again.
Fuck.
Over the next several minutes, in fits and starts, he pushes as much as he can. It’s massive, the pain driving his head to loll around listlessly, his hands to ache gripping the arm rests. His cunt still strains around the foal’s legs, the knobby ankles resting against his thigh, as he struggles to push on the head and knees. It’s a brutal combination, and he hears the grunts and groans he makes as if from far away.
Suddenly, the door opens again, and his boss cries, “Shoot! Stop pushing, wait!”
He shakes his head. His pussy stretches. It’s getting close to his entrance. “Need it… out…!”
“If you push, you’re in breach of contract! You won’t get a dime!”
He stops with an agonized wheeze.
“Good!”
He shakes his head, eyes clenched shut. “No… no, the head’s in my pussy, it’s almost out, it hurts! Let me push it out!”
“Soon, soon, just be patient.”
There is no such thing as patience with his body forced wide from cunt to womb. He can see the image so vividly in his mind’s eye, the knees and head bulging inside his vagina, legs hanging out of him. Fuck, he’s really foaling…
He contracts, and can do nothing but sit there and groan, a long, mournful sound of a broodmare needing to push.
“Please,” he groans. “Please let me foal…”
“Not yet.”
His voice dissolves into a pathetic whine.
Even without pushing, his pussy burns more and more as the spindly legs widen and the nose descends. He can feel them behind his cunt lips, and would kick his own legs in frustration if they weren’t asleep from the weight of his belly.
“Ohhh fuck, please! Please let me… need to push… need to push so bad, need it out…!”
She ignores him, and his womb ignores her, steadily wringing the foal out of him bit by bit, even without his pushing. He starts to whimper as his labia is pried wider and wider.
“It’s coming! It’s coming out!”
“Stop pushing!”
“I’m not! It’s just- hnnng, fuck, it’s just coming out of me!”
She growls in frustration and stomps to the door, throwing it open and yelling, “Get in here! He’s about to foal into his pants!”
Gasping, he claws at the arm rests. “The head! The head! It’s coming out! And the knees, oh god, oh god, it’s crowning! It’s crowning all at once! Fuck! I’m foaling! FUUUCK!”
His cunt opens wider than it was ever meant to, spread around two bulbous knees and the broadening muzzle of the foal. Even as he clenches his jaw and screams in his effort not to push, his contracting body urges the head even further until the true crown wedges his pussy wide around the boxy width of the creature’s head and legs.
The buyer enters the room to the sight of a hugely pregnant boy shrieking as he births the head of a foal into one of his pant legs. The buyer has the boy’s handler lift up his grotesque belly, then pulls off the disgusting, drenched sweatpants himself and releases a hushed gasp at the pretty view of a cunt straining to give birth.
He whistles lowly. “Look at that. Hanging out of him like that… you’ve got a good broodmare, here. Go on, finish foaling for us, boy.”
With nothing left but the desperation to have this horse out of his body, the boy immediately tenses up and grunts deeply. The shoulders bulge his birthing hole, and he trembles for a moment before making a tiny, garbled sound deep in his chest and shoving them out.
The amniotic sac breaks, water splashing everywhere as the foal begins to shift and twitch. The boy groans as its back hooves kick inside his belly. But he manages to lift his legs, grab at his knees, and make a primal, guttural groan as he keeps pushing. For a moment, the foal just dangles half-inside him. Then the barrel torso bursts out of him, tearing a scream of pain from his throat. His handler deftly drags the rest of the horse out, and the buyer watches in bright-eyed fascination as the haunches stretch the boy’s hole one last time before the gangly legs slip out.
The boy looks, bewildered, at what just came out of him, his gaping red pussy pouring fluids.
“I foaled,” he mumbles vacantly, and his cunt clenches like it enjoys the thought.
“Not bad,” says the buyer. He observes his new horse and hums thoughtfully. “A little on the small side, huh?” He pats the still-bulbous belly of the breeder, who whimpers. “Have him make me a Clydesdale next time.”
“Agreed,” says the handler. The breeder’s pussy flutters weakly, and he starts to cry.
“Cheer up, kid,” the buyer laughs. “You’re gonna be rich.”
———
The newly hired horse boy walks uncomfortably into the stable, holding his nauseous belly. He can still feel the bulge and slosh of semen inside, and winces at the memory of being artificially impregnated. He still can’t believe this has happened to him…
But he can’t change it, so he tries to focus on his job. They said stall 8, right? Seeing the hand-painted 8 midway down the stable, he opens that gate and steps in.
He stops in his tracks, limbs going cold at the sight of a naked horse boy on his hands and knees with a a blue and purple belly so large that it presses heavily into the straw-covered ground. He rocks in place, and lets out a low, concentrated grunt, his ears flicking back against his head.
There’s a foal coming out of him. The boy stares in horror at the inflamed ring of his pussy, displacing his hips and his asshole and his clit, making his bound-up tail arch up almost impossibly, room for nothing but giving birth.
Groaning, the boy keeps pushing, slowly birthing the head of a massive, sturdy foal. He stops every once in a while to pant, and doesn’t even scream until the hulking shoulders are splitting his pussy lips.
Suddenly he moans sharply, and it isn’t until he speaks that the watching boy realizes he didn’t expect him to be able to.
“Oh, I’m gonna foal!” he whines, hips squirming, head falling back. “I’m about to foal! I’m foaling! Augh—!” He starts to shudder, his pussy spasming, and his lips fall open.
With an arch of his spine and a full-body heave, the boy cums as he foals out the biggest newborn horse the observing boy has ever seen. It’s easily over a hundred, maybe as much as a hundred and twenty pounds. It’s almost as big as the birthing boy, himself, probably was before that belly grew on him.
Still standing in the door of the stable, the newly-bred boy stares numbly.
“That’s- that’s not what’s inside of me, is it?!” he finally squeaks.
The breeder, half-collapsed next to his foal, looks up with cloudy eyes. He smiles vacantly, glancing down to the small swell stretching his new coworker’s shirt.
“Don’t worry,” he sighs, then moans gently as an aftershock clearly flutters through him. “You’ll be okay. Our bodies were made for foaling.” His jaw falls, and his hips jerk, thighs weakly drawing together as just the thought seems to make him cum again. “Ah! Mmh… You’ll love being a broodmare.”
oh to be laboring for hours in a dark, cozy den filled with blankets and pillows. you're next to me, massaging my contracting belly and soothing me when the pain gets too intense.
you kneel between my spread legs and encourage me as i bear down, the first of seven puppies making its way along my birth canal. your fingers part the lips of my puppy cunt as the head of the pup begins to bulge and crown.
you have to force my legs apart as i cry out in pain and try to close them to escape the sensation, eventually giving up the fight and collapsing onto my side as the next contraction hits and forces me to push. you lift my leg up and rub my thigh soothingly, moving to place your hand on the crowning pup. you tell me to push. with a loud whine, i deliver the head into your hand and squirm uncomfortably as the shoulders rotate, panting and whimpering. with one more hard push, the rest of the pup slid out onto the towels. i whined tiredly, groaning as the pups shifted in my belly.
I should be full of your puppies right now whelping the squirming litter out into your lap presenting my contracting hole as I push and push and push just one after the other until I’m empty and gaping—perfect and waiting to be bred again
you've been pregnant with my puppies for months. your body has grown to accommodate them. you've got a rotund swell to your belly, and rows of nipples developed along your tummy. there's a sway to your gait that, even viewing you from behind, you are so undeniably pregnant. the ultrasound revealed three pups. today, we finally meet them.
here you are, on all fours. belly brushing against the bedroom floor- crouched over a plastic tarp laid over carpet to prevent stains. this is the room where life itself was conceived, and where life will be birthed. you've been laboring for hours, moaning under your breath, swearing as your cervix dilates. Labor, as it turns out, is a laborious process. your face blushes red. sweat beads on your forehead. as your mate, i pace around you worriedly for hours. i dutifully care for your ever need, bringing you water, providing you comfort and care.
you feel a shift in your lower abdomen. one of the puppies has lodged its head past your cervix. a particularly powerful groan overtakes you as it slides down your canal. you scream. fuck, you've never been stretched like this before. you yell at the top of your lungs with every contraction, gasping for breath between each pause. the pup begins to crown. the top of its head peeks out from your wet, whelping hole.
i urge you on. push, push, push.
with a grand effort, you focus all your muscles to birth our pup. you're stretched over the widest part of the head. sweat beads on your forehead. the pup's head slides past. a gush of amniotic fluid bursts and splatters over the tarp. im quick to attend to the pup. gently catching it and licking it clean. i excitedly show you our newborn. i know you want to hold it, but there's more work for you to do. i lay our pup in the nursery by our bed.
your tummy is still so full. another pup is getting kicky. you feel a movement, followed by an added heft in your cervix. this one's so much bigger than the last. you push, but there's no budge. you whimper feeling the pain of your cervix widening and failing to move the large pup down. you try to relax your body. taking a deep breath, and exhaling slowly. it's difficult. it hurts. the puppy wriggles inside you, and makes it past your relaxed cervix. it's entered your birth canal, descending downward. it's absolutely huge. you feel its crown force your insides wide. you're not sure your body can handle a pup of this size. but you have to. you must birth our pup. your whelping hole bulges. you scream. you push. you strain. it's not coming out. and, oh god, does it burn. you rock your body forward and back, doing anything to relieve the pressure. the pup is almost out. i take my hand to carefully pry you open further. my fingers feel hot on you. c'mon. you can do it. birth our pup. you let out a guttural groan as you bear down. the oversized pup escapes out and into my hands, kicking and screaming into the world. a stream of fluid follows and soaks your inner thighs. your hole reels from the stretch, slightly agape from birthing, contracting and flexing rhythmically.
i carefully tend to the pup and leave it at the nursery. you're panting hard to recover from the strain of birthing our enormous pup. your belly rises and falls with each shallow breath, gradually getting deeper until your breathing stabilizes. i pet you along your back. you're doing a wonderful job giving birth to our puppies. there's one more to go. you feel a mass slip easily past your cervix. in fact, it's barely perceptible. this one's real small. it must be the runt of the litter. it glides down your canal easily. you feel your muscles expand, but it's nothing compared to the last birth. in fact, it's somewhat pleasant. or... even orgasmic. your whelping hole flutters. you're cumming. you shiver as your orgasm takes over your whole body. you squeak, because with almost no effort at all, the little pup is ejected into my hands. together, we look over our three puppies to make sure they're nice and healthy.
good job, good job. what a great dog you are. what a wonderful mate you make. you went through all that effort to gestate and birth our pups. i cant wait to fill you up with another even bigger litter as soon as i can.
Being filled with her eggs makes you dizzy. So big; stuffed like her good little bitch. Your hole is swollen, sensitive and abused. Your stomach cramps as the eggs start to grow inside you.
She lays next to you stroking your hair and face. You push rhythmically to get those damn eggs out, shifting from your front to your back to sitting up to kneeling down. So uncomfortable, you shuddered as your hole buldged, your body slowly giving in to birthing the first egg. Her colourful eyes watched closely, she stroked her cock as you struggled.
It felt like it happened in slow motion, you stretched and stretched and were pushed open more and more, breathing hard until finally the egg fell free.
She moaned happily as it fell, pulled you to her chest. You cried as she lovingly pushed her entire ovipositor back inside you, keeping the rest of her brood nice and deep.
She hugged you close and cockwarmed you for hours. You felt a jolt of- panic? Pleasure? -every time her cock pulsed inside you. Panic that it was another egg. Pleasure because, well, its still a throbbing cock inside you and youre still a greedy slut.
She might have slept, but its hard to tell. This was the closest thing to mercy youll have for a while, you make sure to appreciate it. You try not to squeeze or grind on her cock too much, and take advantage of resting.
But. Cmon.
The eggs feel like theyre growing minute by minute. Theyre crowding your insides, pushing against everything inside you, demanding room. She's fucked them so deep inside you, but with limited options they descend.
Much later, you both groaned sleepily as she pulled out. She still held you close, in a cuddly mood apparently. Drawing little circles along your distended stomach, watching the bulges shift inside you.
You keep trying to push and she doesnt seem to stop you. She sort of ... chitters happily. You breath in quick, even puffs, trying to keep the steady pressure as gnarled shells drag against every nerve inside you. Egg 2 finally crowns, you push more and make it split you open. Oh goddd its so much bigger than the first was. She copies your breathing, puffing with you as she pushes it back in.
You give her a pleading look but her hypnotising eyes shine with something like delight and nothing like mercy. Youre so sensitive you feel like youve been edged.
Finally, she sits you in her lap. She kisses and bites your neck with sharp teeth, she rubs your massive swollen belly proudly. You feel oversensitive, and brain-foggy.
You cant tell, as your knees are pushed wide open for her, if youre horrified or the most turned on youve ever been.
You whimper in her arms, grinding against her hand and shivering at her panflute-like breath on your ear. Egg 2 presses against your dripping wet entrance. You know she feels it on her hand, her musical voice picks up with excitement.
Youre breached by the narrow tip of egg, grown so much bigger than the first. Fucked loose so thoroughly and recently, now with gravity on your side, you dont have a choice. It splits you and forces you open. But of course it stops. Her hand cups it, but this time its not her that denies you. The bulbous end is too big to slip out on its own.
Youre tired but you steel yourself and push. All the eggs shift and you sting with fullness. Drawing ragged breaths, you feel more descend and egg 3 tapping on the end of the one that splits you open, threatening to be next.
The crowning egg pops out in a rush. Its a flash of pain as you are forced to stretch so much so quickly, but your pleasure in her hand she makes sure you cum at the same time. You cry out, wracked by every sensation.
She lets you close your legs but her hand is still at your core and theres nothing you can do to move it. You wail as egg 3 slips down into place between your loose hole. Was it better to have you legs open? Would anything make this hurt less?? You shift, and no, no it doesnt. She graps you and pulls your legs up with strength you could never match. The tip of the egg bulges obscenely out of you. You hump the air trying to dislodge it.
No thoughts as your lips expand and expand. Pleasure strikes you like lightning - which of course, makes you clench and bear down. You scream as egg 3 pops out as well. She watches your face as her deft fingers keep you cumming much longer than you can handle.
Number 4 she does catch, right where it feels like its ripping you apart. Holding you on the edge of relief, biting your ear as you scream. Its not even inside you, where your muscles could push it more. No, its just the widest part of the egg keeping you stretched.
The next egg knocks it, she taps them lightly inside you. The sound thrums deeply inside you. The next egg moved slower it feels bigger it feels bigger it feels bigger. You stop pushing for a moment, lean back on her shoulder and cry.
She finally pulls egg 4 free - then the tip of egg 5 follows quickly but oh it reaches your limit so much earlier than the others. Its definitely bigger.
You roll off of her and crawl onto all fours. Youre just too tired to sit up properly. Changing positions shifts the egg, the angle is different. Your legs feel forced open. Rocking back and forth to dislodge it from your body. You grunt with effort, and cry out when its finally birthed, that relief makes you cum.
She slips underneath you, and sits with her lovely hips right under your face. She strokes herself, that fat ovipositor with an x on the head. You know it opens up like petals. She sighs like windchimes as she slowly jerks herself off.
Your body was completely wrecked by this cock but ... fuck its so pretty. Leaning down you drag your tongue across the head, and are rewarded with her lovely moans. It makes you so happy that it tastes like you.
Gently sucking and tonguing her cock, 6 weighs down on your hole and opens you up with such a delicious stretch. Your hips rock to get it out, you convulse and cum on the shell.
Youre such a good slut for these eggs. You clench from cumming, this time squeezing the egg sucks it back in. Youre pulsing, sucking it back in and pushing it back down. Youre fucking yourself on this egg. You choke on her cock and you push.
The relief isnt orgasmic this time, in fact you dont get to enjoy it at all. 6 is birthed and 7 fills its place so quickly and wholly that you cry out and shudder. Theres such a unique horror to feeling something huge stuck half inside you.
You suck the head harder and stroke her from the base. Can she see what shes done to you? Can she see how your slick swollen hole buldges obscenely? You whimper, your thighs tremble and you desperately keep sucking her cock.
Dizzy from effort and choking, you push. Split open like a good breeding bitch, you push. Rutting against the air, you push. The rough shell dragging against your inner walls, you almost dont mind every time you feel it slip just a little back in.
You finally reach the crest, it feels like its moving on its own as its weight drags it out. You are wracked with convulsions as orgasms strike you like lightning, suddenly much lighter. She strokes your hair as you shudder and gasp in her lap. You did such a good job for her.
You breath hard as you come down, completely relieved and relaxed. Youre kind of proud? She doesnt seem to care about the eggs, all her attention is on you. Would you do take her eggs again? God yes.
What do you think about people who don't know that they are pregnant, ignoring their cramps, bad this month, suddenly feeling the urge to push, thinking they are taking the dump of their life until they are crowning hard. How do they comprehend the fullness in their birth canal?
Did their partner guess or are they both shooketh?
And when the hind brain takes over and all they can do is grunt and groan and push for their life, gripping their partner and squatting desperately trying to widen their legs.
Does their partner help hold them steady and kiss them through a surprise orgasm as the mystery slides through their cunt?
loveeee cryptic preg so much.
you're in a little bit of denial, admittedly— something is definitely off, but you couldn't be pregnant. it doesnt make sense. doesnt fit. there's only a small little bloat that juts out from between your hips, and its not even noticeable unless you're naked. it never grows, never moves, and there's never any other symptoms—feeling tired, feeling sick, feeling an odd flutter deep in your belly now and then; it's all explainable. it all goes away.
until it doesn't.
"what- jesus, baby, what the fuck is going on?"
your partner comes home to find you kneeling on the bathroom floor, your plans to sweat your way out of the cramps abandoned as soon as your water had broken, everything clicking into place as you'd watched the fluid gushing down your thighs. you'd been dressed in nothing but your underwear and one of your partner's t-shirts—the shirt is now rucked up underneath your breasts, and you've only managed to work your panties down as far as the tops of your thighs, creating a small sliver of space for the head that's emerging from your bulging cunt, stretching out the flimsy, sodden fabric.
"'fucks it look like," you grunt. one hand clings to the edge of the bathroom sink and the other to the rim of the tub, and your knuckles turn white around them both as you let your chin fall to your chest and push. you've spread your knees as far as you can, thighs quivering violently on either side of your gaping sex, labia and perineum protuding quite significantly as the head- god, you hope its the head, you hadnt even thought to check, but then again, you hadnt even realized you were giving birth until you had the hefty mass of an infant in your vagina- slowly grinds through your birth canal. "w-we can talk... nnngh, la-aaater. gotta pushhh."
"shit. shit!"
they frantically run a hand through their hair as they shed their jacket and scramble to kneel in front of you, placing one hand on each of your thighs. "can you spread a bit wider for me, baby? maybe get your panties down? you need to let me see what's going on."
"can't," you bite out. you bring one hand down to slide your panties to the side and press two fingers inside of you, letting out a small gasp as you brush against... something. the mass is hard, and a little more exploration confirms it is, in fact, the head. and fuck, it's even bigger than you thought. was it possible you were overdue? the sheer size of it made you feel as though you had to be. "t-the head is right here." the next contraction comes with no warning, and you let out a thin scream as you bear down, your fingers sliding out of your yawning pussy in another trickle of bloody fluid. the head sits just behind the enterance of your tightly furled slit, and you grit your teeth as you stuggle to clear it through your unrelenting lips. "pus-s-shinggg."
"okay. uh, that's good, baby! you're doing really well." your partner slides their hands up and down your thighs, massaging the shaking muscles as you scream and howl your way through each push, completely lost to your animal instincts. "i'm so proud of you, love. look at you. you know exactly what you're doing. you're- oh, good push, baby! that's it!"
something finally seems to give way, and you throw your head back and shriek as the head begins to crown. "burning! holy fuckkk." the tight tissue of your pussy stretches and stretches and stretches, burning white-hot as more and more of the head slides free. "its so fucking big."
your partner gentlely eases you back onto your heels, their eyes going almost comedically wide as they get a clear view of your battered sex, gaping around a half-born, posterior, and clearly very overdue head. the width of the skull alone is at least two inches across, and even the size of the brow is massive. "it is," they agree. "and they're sunny side up, baby. its facing the wrong way, but- no, no, dont panic! its coming. you're getting it out. one more big push for the rest of the head- can you do that for me?"
you nod your head in agreement, but your body has already begun bearing down. "mmmm, coming o-out," you grunt, squeezing your eyes shut as you pause for a second to take in another breath before you shove down hard. the head lingers for a moment as your pussy stretches around the nose and then the mouth before your tissues finally give way and slip over the chin, leaving you a sobbing wreck with a giant head dangling between your thighs, cushioned only by your panties.
"oh god, oh god, oh godddd. I can't stop pushing! I can't stoppp-hnnnnnng."
your instincts are screaming at you to slow down (it might not even be your instincts- it might just be your partner), trying to warn you that you're going to tear, but the weight in your birth canal and the squirming of the unexpected infant and the stretch and the burn as your pussy opens around it is all too much to bear.
"gotta. get it. outttt."
with one final push, the shoulders and body pop free, sliding out in a massive rush of fluid. for one single breadth of a second, the room is totally still and silent, and then a thin wail rises up from the bulging stretch of your underwear, joining your own relieved sobs.
your partner laughs, leaning in to kiss you as they untangle the baby from your panties and pass them up to you between your spread thighs. "well... that was quite a welcome home, I must say."
I saw your fics on Ao3, and I loved the Tumbler Posts book, but the one about being a dumb pet? Fuck that was awesome, could you write about me being a dumb little oblivious pet, but my owner won’t let me push, so I’m just sobbing and begging them to make it better?
(you don’t have to or anything, sorry, I don’t know how you’d like your asks to be set up)
The pains have been coming for so long, you've completely lost track of time. Your owner came home a while ago to find you writhing on the floor in agony, holding your round, heavy stomach. You looked up at them with your big tear filled eyes and begged them to help you. They just smiled and rubbed your head.
"Don't worry pet," they said, "you're doing just fine, not long now."
You whined in pain and confusion. It felt like you were dying, like your poor belly was going to tear itself apart. You cried and and clutched desperately at your owners leg as another pain gripped you.
Your owner moved you to a corner filled with soft blankets. They sat with you, cooing at you softly as you struggled through the pains. They got worse and happened closer and closer together. You begged them to make it stop, cried that you were dying, tried to tell them something was wrong. They just pet you and rubbed your belly and told you everything was alright. They had been saying the same thing for months. Every time your asked why your tummy was getting so big and round or why your chest was so sore they would smile that same smile and tell you not to worry.
Now the pains are coming almost on top of each other. You get barely any time to rest between them. You're crying and screaming with each one, curled up around your spasmsing belly. Suddenly you feel a horrible, insistent pressure between your legs. Something deep and primal inside you tells your to bear down with it. You do, holding your breath and straining. You feel something move inside you and the pressure only seems to get worse.
Your owner notices your pushing and tsks at you.
"don't push yet sweetheart, you're not ready yet." they chide.
"please," you beg, "I have to, have to push. Hurts so bad, so much pressure, pleeeeaasse!!" You trail off into a scream as another pain takes you.
"don't push." your owner says, a warning in their voice. "I'll tell you when you're ready."
You try your best to obey. Even through the pain and fear you still want to be good but it's so hard. Everything in you is screaming for you to push. The pressure is mind numbing. You whimper and writhe and cry, gripping your owners pant leg with shaking fingers.
"good," they say as you shudder through another pain without pushing. "so good for me, just a bit longer pet."
"hurts," you sob, "please, make it stop, hurts too much, please!"
"hush," they tell you
Despite you not pushing, whatever is inside you has moved slowly down towards your opening. That horrible, unveiling pressure so low inside you now. With the next pain you feel it begin to press out splitting you open. You yelp as your hole begins to strain.
Your owner puts a firm hand down between your legs, pressing against it and stopping the small bit of progress. You gasp and jerk at the feeling of the thing being pressed back inside. The pressure and pain increases tenfold and you cry out.
"please, please, please," you chant, "please, it hurts, so much pressure, please!"
Your body screams at you to push but the solid barrier of your owner's hand makes even trying useless.
"Not yet," they murmur to you, wiping your tears with their free hand. "just a bit longer honey, I know you can do it."
You sob but try your best to obey. After all, they know best.
Hope you enjoyed this! Sorry it took me a while to get to :)
Like what if you worked on an oil rig and one day while doing your rounds you find a mermaid who was injured and got separated from her pod and despite her initial hostility you decide to help her. Once she realizes you’re not trying to hurt her, she warms up to you, and you both fascinate each other so much you end up becoming friends as her tail heals and you start sneaking down to water level to talk to her every day. But then talking becomes exploring and exploring becomes fucking so you just end up having a secret mermaid buddy that you fuck that becomes the actual highlight of your day while out on the ocean at your shitty, dangerous job.
And then one day she just seems tired and off and in pain and after you pry about it she reveals to you that the reason that her and her pod were migrating is because it’s mating season and she needs to lay or she might become egg bound. Which is something you’ve only vaguely heard about, but you know it’s something that can be fatal to egg-laying creatures. So you ask her why she doesn’t just do that, and she tells you that with the way mermaids mate, she can’t lay unless she’s laying the eggs into a mate, so then you ask her what happens if she doesn’t and she reluctantly tells you she’ll die.
And like, this is your mermaid fuck buddy but she’s also your friend now and you really don’t want her to die so you ask if there’s anything you can do to help.
She just laughs humorlessly and tells you no, not unless you want to take the eggs and you can tell she’s not serious, but you’re pretty serious about having her not die so you say you’ll do it.
She doesn’t believe you at first and then she brushes you off because humans and mermaids have different anatomy and it might not even be possible and it might actually hurt you so it’s not a great idea.
You think sure, it might hurt you, but not laying will definitely kill her and you think it’s worth a shot. You point this out and she agrees after mulling it over.
This is how you find out that mermaid eggs are around the size of a plum at this point in their development and also what it’s like to have a mermaid push her eggs deep inside you as she clutches you from behind in the water, her webbed fingers wrapped tight around fistfuls of your shirt as she shakes with relief.
This is why you end up sneaking back up to your cabin dripping wet and locking yourself inside, leaning against the door as you massage your gut where you can now feel three…? hard, round lumps far beneath your skin.
This is why you spend a month carefully covering yourself in loose t shirts when you’re not wearing boots and waterproof coveralls and watching in equal parts amazement and dread as your belly starts to gently swell around the growing masses inside you. You fend off jokes about your weight gain and when you visit the mermaid, she’s equally amazed that they’ve actually grown inside you instead of just being immediately expelled.
You don’t say it to her—you manage to actually act pretty nonchalant about the whole thing—but the thought of how they’re going to come back out is definitely weighing on you, which is stupid because they’re obviously coming out the way they went in.
You’re just a little nervous because they’re just…Well. They’re definitely bigger than when they went in. When you press your hand into your belly to try to feel them, it feels like one would now fill your entire palm.
You try not to think about it, even when you feel the eggs shifting and settling uncomfortably low inside you. Even when a dull pain starts squeezing your gut at increasingly regular intervals and your belly becomes so tight over the eggs that you can almost see their outline when you take your shirt off in the privacy of your cabin at the end of the day.
You only start to when the pain becomes sharper and so much more intense that you’re forced to call your supervisor to say you’re violently vomiting all over your bathroom because that’s the only way you’ll get out of your shift.
This is when you end up pacing the incredibly short length of your cabin, occasionally stopping as the pressure down there becomes so strong you have to bite the back of your hands to muffle the sounds you make. And then you can no longer pace and you double over your low dresser, gripping its sides with white-knuckled fingers and gasping as the cramps—the contractions—steal your breath away.
You didn’t really ask the mermaid what was going to happen when you had to get the eggs back out of you. You didn’t think of trying to sneak back down to the waterline so that she could help you either. You’re regretting that now, but it’s way, way too late to do anything about it. The eggs aren’t going give you time to question every decision that got you here. They’re not going to wait until you’re ready for them to transition from being inside of you to being outside. They’re coming out now.
This is how you find yourself alone in your bathroom, pants and underwear kicked off onto the floor, trying desperately not to scream as you attempt to force a mermaid egg the size of a small cantaloupe out of you through a hole that wasn’t even built for it in the first place.
Want to be stuffed with tentacles that pump, in and out, pushing past my cervix and fucking countless eggs into my womb, then fertilizing them with lots and lots of hot, intoxicating cum. Want to be high and delirious off it, my brain turned off, only aware of the eggs growing, writhing inside me, my skin pulling taut and then further still as the eggs expand over… hours? Days? Who knows. Want to feel my tits grow heavy and painful, feel my nipples become swollen and puffy. And then eventually, after what feels like an eternity of eggs and heat and neediness pooling within, I want to feel the rush of pain and pressure, and the intense, almost orgasmic release that comes when my water breaks, more liquid than has ever poured out of me before. I want to feel every inch of every egg as my body pushes them down, towards their entrances into the world. Want to feel the pressure mounting between my hips, then pressing into my cervix, opening and opening and coming down until it’s bulging out of me behind the lips of my cunt. Want to feel my legs shake as my lips finally start to part, burning as I realize just how much my tight hole is going to have to stretch. But the pain is pleasure, my moans with each contraction laced with eroticism, fueled by the eggs themselves, their membranes seeped in whatever sedative the creature’s sperm contained. Want to feel my legs spreading on their own as the massive egg widens my hole, my toes curling, my tits starting to leak simply from the force of each of my desperate pushes. Want to feel the pressure grinding against my clit from the inside, only intensifying as the egg approaches a crown. Gasping, breathing shakily as the widest part of the egg begins to breach my opening. Taking a moment to bask in the pleasure of the burn and the stretch. And then when the next contraction begins, pushing with all my might. Want to feel the first egg finally wrest free of me with a loud pop! And a long moan of pleasure on my lips, the release causing an orgasm to ripple through my entire body. Over and over and over again until the end, exhausted and with only a few eggs left to birth. Want to be sucked of effort to give, the sedation wearing off as there’s less and less of the eggs and their membranes to intoxicate me. Feeling the burn worsen each time a pulsing egg shoots out of my raw cunt. Until I don’t have anything left, so my body has to take over, pushing in short bursts as I fade in and out of consciousness. Falling asleep while my cunt stretches around the rim of an egg, where the widest part sits just inside me. Waking with a scream as a more intense contraction begins, my body pushing involuntarily, eyes opening as the final egg shoots out of me. Want to be panting, finally empty, drunk on my body’s hormones, when I feel the familiar touch of a tentacle, working its way back into my ruined cunt. Want to feel it push past my cervix again, still not yet closed after the days-long birth. Want to feel eggs, smaller this time (for now), but more numerous, deposited back into my newly-emptied womb, and want to feel myself fading into sleep again as the tentacle pulls out of me with a wet squelch, satisfied with having bred me again.
I’ve been haunted (positive) by the idea of a US college football player knocked up by his coach… The coach finds out one of his players is trans and needs to try boypussy for himself, establishing a ritual where the night before a game he has the player suck him off and then cums in his tight little cunt. He’s not trying to knock the kid up, exactly, but when he sees the fabric of the state uniform stretching over that belly, he’s filled with pride.
It takes the player far longer to realize what’s going on. He falsely believes T is birth control, and he’s been trying to bulk up, so he just believes he’s finally putting on some much-needed weight and doesn’t think much about it. By the time he realizes his coach put a baby in him, he’s already too far along to do anything about it.
Humiliated and scared of jeopardizing his sports scholarship, he goes to great lengths to hide it, eventually starting to bind his belly. It’s excruciatingly painful and hard on his joints to force his growing baby deep into his body like that, especially on the field. He’s getting so sloppy and slow and tired that he hopes Coach will just bench him, but Coach takes too much perverse joy in watching him struggle through each game.
And of course the player will end up going into labor on the day of a playoff game. He tries to tell Coach he isn’t feeling well, but with a thrill, Coach tells him to muscle through.
But he can’t deny nature, and ends up falling to his knees in the middle of a play. Timeout is called, and by the time the medics arrive, he’s collapsed onto his back with his legs splayed wide. He’s making desperate animal sounds and clawing ineffectually at his belly, leading one of the medics to discover his belly binder and start to undo it. Finally his belly heaves free of its confines, a veiny, bulbous growth that looks grotesque jutting off the frame of a slim college boy.
Even the cheap seats can see the curve of his pregnant gut tense into a hard, sharp shape, and if that left any doubt as to what was happening, the Jumbotron displays a high definition feed of the sopping wet spandex between his legs beginning to bulge.
His teeth clench and his face scrunches as he digs his fingers into the backs of his thighs and pulls his knees as far back as he can, a grunt grinding in his throat. The stunned medics watch the seam of his uniform bottoms stretch as he pushes harder, making no move to assist. It’s only his strained wheeze of Getthemoff! the prompts one of them to shove their hand under him and pull his waistband down his ass and over the bend of his thighs, revealing the straps of his jock framing his puffy, domed pussy.
His rock-hard belly softens, and the tension trembling through his body gives way to gasps as he releases the push. He tosses his head weakly and moans, “Is it out? Is it out yet?!” and falls into agonized groans when the medics tell him that they haven’t even seen the head yet.
By now the team is crowded around him, including the coach, who casually rests his clipboard over his lap, concealing that he’s the hardest he’s ever been in his life.
The medics try to move the player onto the stretcher, but he screams, “Don’t touch me!” when they try, so they have no choice but to sit back and watch him labor unassisted. His slow halting progress fills the Jumbotron, showing his bulging perineum and flared asshole, the lips of his cunt beginning to peek open at the height of every push. He keeps sobbing that it hurts, it’s too big, he’s gonna tear. But it only gets worse, the contractions getting closer and the dome between his legs growing bigger and bigger.
His tight cunt lips stay snug around the head of his bastard, his fat boyclit jutting up as everything between his legs is displaced. But finally, with a push that turns his face purple, the head moves enough that even when it inches back inside him at the end of the contraction, there’s still a perfect teardrop of hair visible.
His eyes snap wide, chest heaving as he struggles for breath to wail, “My pussy, my pussy, my pussy!” Coach’s cock twitches as he commits every detail to memory, from that pretty birthing cunt to the sweet rasp of the player’s voice.
The contractions come faster now, scarcely a minute between them, and the player only grows more hysterical between each one. “No, no, it’s too big!” he screams, with his lips only opened to reveal a small disc of the head.
The next several times he tries to push, he ends up flinching and trying to close his legs, though squeezing his thighs together only shifts more of the pressure towards his asshole, making it bulge and pulse dangerously. The medics end up grabbing his legs and pinning his knees back against his shoulders, and he shrieks as the shift eases the head forward, his taint and cunt lips stretched several inches away from his body as they struggle to open wide enough for the head, his jock almost cutting into his skin as the straps stretch around his birth.
“I can’t,” he sobs, “I can’t,” but it isn’t his choice. The next contraction comes, and he can’t help but push, body curling and thighs shaking, nothing but a high wheeze audible in his throat.
Finally, he crowns. He immediately stops pushing with a shriek, fruitlessly fighting to close his pried-open legs. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuuuuck! Get it out!!! Get it OUUUUT!” He tries to keep pushing, but he’s too weak to budge it without the help of his body, only succeeding in inching the crown just far enough forward to stretch his boyclit nearly flat.
“My clit!” he screams. “My clit! My clit! I’m tearing!!! Get it ouuuuuUUUUUUUUUT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
A contraction hits in the middle of his cry, and his shrieking breaks off with a sharp peak of his voice as the huge head of the coach’s bastard bursts out of his abused boypussy in a gush of fluid. He falls limp with a cry, his whole body shaking. As his head lolls, he happens to catch a glimpse of the Jumbotron, and cold washes over him as he sees the massive high-definition image of a baby’s head hanging out of his cunt.
He doesn’t even quite process that it’s him until he feels the urge to push, and winces at the shoulders twisting inside him as he watches the head rotate on the screen. “That’s coming out of me,” he rasps. “Oh my god. Oh my god, it’s coming out of my pussy. It’s coming out of m—hhhhng!”
The urge to push overtakes him, and with a thin grunt, he shoves out both shoulders. He winces as he feels the rest of the slimy body tugged out of him, then numbly raises his hands to take the strange purple being when the medics hand it to him. He looks down at it, and the only thought he can hold in his head is a bewildered, That came out of me.
And for many nights to come, Coach will cum to the thought, I put that in him.
im peanut brittle guy uhhhh. um. I love medieval times trans guys hehe.... maybe orgasmic birth denial? :3 -👽🛸
(A request for anon that donated to my short-lived ko-fi. Thank you king 🙏)
This got me thinking of a classic medieval knight… When he’s inducted into the royal guard, his agreeable personality and keen sparring instinct make him an instant favorite among the other knights. So, it’s no surprise when one of them invites him to his bunk to blow off some steam after a long day patrolling; without much time for romancing maidens, it’s not unusual for the knights to find release with their fellows.
What is unusual is the tight, wet pussy between the new knight’s legs, and the perky little tits that bounce so cutely on his chest when he arches his back and groans to be fucked harder. Word spreads quickly through the barracks, and soon all of the guardsmen are flocking to him, aching to try him.
Our knight ends up heavy-eyed and sleepy during his long patrols, but the others cover for him—after all, they know it’s their fault he’s so poorly rested, since he spends most of his off-duty time pressed between the firm, sweaty bodies of multiple men. Especially after a battle, they often spear him open on two cocks at once, his head bouncing limply on one of their strong shoulders while he whimpers and jerks with the latest in a countless number of orgasms.
His fellow knights are gentlemen, of course, and always pull out, even washing him clean after they stripe his belly and thighs with their seed. But with so many needy, dripping cocks fucking so deep into him, it’s only a matter of time before a slight swell appears just above his hipbones, and he shyly confirms to his questioning lovers that his blood has ceased coming.
The barracks buzz with excitement, musings about who sired the child going quickly by the wayside as each one finds himself caring for the pregnant knight as if he were their husband, and his womb ripening with their own seed. Even those that are at first skeptical of a man bearing a child come around when they lay their hands on the tiny curve of his belly for themselves. As far as anyone is concerned, the child belongs to all of them.
At first, the evidence of the knight’s pregnancy is nothing but a palm-sized bump, detectable only by his most intimate partners. But soon, his growing womb fills out the tunic that was once loose on him, not yet eye-catching, but certainly visible to those who care to look. His chest, too, begins to prepare for the child, tiny tits rounding into tender breasts that must be squeezed into the confines of his chain mail. When his fellows help him out of his armor at the end of a watch, several helpers always stand by, ready to massage his aching breasts, or knead his burdened back, or press their face into his swollen pussy until his tense joints hang pleasure-limp.
His armor seems to grow heavier at the same rate as his womb, his joints straining beneath the combined weight. He struggles, too, to fulfill his duties while so much of his vigor goes straight to forming the babe in his belly. When one day he finally succumbs to his delicate condition and collapses near the end of his watch, the captain of the guard—who has gone to bed with him as often if not more than most of the other guardsman—has him moved to guard the throne room.
Standing on his swollen feet all day still exhausts him, but outside of the occasional uncomfortable shifting as his body aches and his child moves, he draws no attention to himself there. His armor manages to conceal his pregnancy even as his time grows closer—though he imagines the blacksmith who fashioned his cuirass chose its barrel shape to provide empty space for absorbing the impact of enemy swords, not as a vessel to be packed tight with a pregnant belly and milk-swollen breasts. It’s a tight fit, forcing his gut high enough that the child shifts backwards, a strain on his lower spine. They don’t take well to the limited space, protesting with sharp kicks that pinch the wall of his belly against the armor. He longs to rub soothing hands over his bump, but he wouldn’t dare do such a thing while on watch, even if he could reach his belly through the metal.
As the weeks pass, he keeps distending, his child a foreboding point of pressure deep in his pelvis. His belly begins to droop low, and he can’t keep his hands off the raw, stretched skin, scratching at fresh stretch marks and wincing at the growing web of tender veins. The other knights handle him lovingly, often appearing behind him to hold up his belly for a few minutes. In bed, their affections grow gentle, and the pregnant knight becomes accustomed to strong hands caressing his aching breasts while someone’s hard cock grinds ever so gently between his legs, not quite inside him, but giving his clit more than enough friction to have him cumming with a mewling cry.
Finally, he wakes one morning to a great pain in his gut. He screws his eyes shut and clutches the tense surface of his belly, trying to breathe through it without waking his bedmate. When it passes, he rouses the other knight, who helps dress him for his watch. When it comes time to lift his belly as high as he can and compress it against his body so that he can get his armor on, he clenches his jaw and pants through his teeth. His lover, waiting with the cuirass at the ready, asks if he’s okay. He says he will be once he’s dressed.
But that isn’t the case at all. His belly barely fits in the armor anymore, forcing the baby in and down until a terrible pain envelops his pelvic cradle, far worse than his daily aches in these last months. The head of his child feels so, so low.
He prays that the babe will wait to come until his watch ends. In response, another contraction lances through his belly and into his lower back. He barely swallows back his whimper.
But he must fulfill his duty.
He takes his place in the throne room, grateful that his helm conceals the winces and twists of his features as he struggles to endure labor in silence. But it becomes so hot beneath the metal, heady and claustrophobic. He longs to turn and bend over, to hang onto the knight behind him as he rocks his hips. He wants to pace, and groan with his whole chest, and rub his tensing belly.
Hours pass. Vaguely, the knight is aware that if there were an emergency, he would be no help to the king, at this point. All he wants is to be back in his chambers, on his hands and knees, with a midwife comforting him.
When the urge to push overwhelms him, he knows it won’t be much longer. He tries not to, but his body needs it, tugging on the muscles in his belly, tempting his reflexes. He can only resist for so long before finally he indulges in a small push. His mouth falls open as he feels the head of his child lodge suddenly deeper within him, surely passing from his womb into his pussy.
The progress is intoxicating, and he forgets himself after that, pushing as hard as he’s able without moving too much. It’s easier than he thought to stay quiet, the effort stealing his sound from his throat. When a particularly forceful push makes him feel like the head is coming out of him, he finally lets a sound slip, the softest of grunts.
“Is it the child?”
The whisper comes from behind him, a knight much older than him who likes to press extra fingers into his cunt and thumb at his clit when he rides on top.
“Yes,” he breathes, loud as he dares. “It’s- coming out. I think it’s coming out of me.”
Suddenly there’s a hand between his legs. He barely swallows his yelp, a sudden warmth coursing through his body as the large hand feels his cunt through the his trousers. He finds himself very grateful that his tabard hides this impertinence from the court.
“Nothing is coming out,” the knight assures him calmly.
How could that be? “Then soon. I— hng!” He must bite his tongue to keep his cry at bay as the vice closes around him once again, urging the child ever-lower. More heat bubbles up within him as the head fills his pussy and creates pressure behind his clit.
“Oh.” Awe softens the gruff whisper behind him. “I feel it. It’s stretching you.”
“It’s big,” he whispers, struggling not to squirm where he stands. He didn’t expect it to feel like this. It hurts, yes, so much he can hardly bear it, but- this pressure on his most sensitive place… he chews his lip.
With his next push, something gives inside him, a sensation he can’t quite place. Then his thighs begin to grow warm, and he understands. There’s a slight flinch from the hand between his legs, but it steadies again, his fellow knight clearly understanding what’s happened. The babe feels even lower, though there’s less pressure now, somewhat relieving that strange feeling he’s had.
It feels as if barely a minute passes before he contracts again, and he lets his chin fall ever so slightly with the effort of his push. He knows that he shouldn’t do this, that if a babe drops from between his legs before the whole royal court, he’ll be found out and imprisoned, or at the very least stripped of his knighthood. But he can’t help it. He must push, as vital as his breath.
And what a push it is, heaving the head low and making his mouth fall open as the awful stretching pain ignites into the worst agony he’s ever experienced. The pressure, too, increases somehow, right against that special place. His clit, already rendered to a sharp point of pain, begins to twitch and swell all the more.
“Oh, fuck,” he breathes against his visor. Ever so slightly, he rocks his spreading hips and his baby-filled cunt back against his fellow’s hand. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
“I feel it. It’s huge. I can’t believe that’s coming out of you.”
Neither can he. Desperately, he wishes to scream, or drop into a squat, or lay back on the floor and pull his legs as far apart as he can get them. He’s almost relieved when the next contraction comes.
He pushes so hard that his thighs tremble, and wheezes through his teeth as he crowns into his lover’s hand, cunt burning, pressure growing. God, it really feels like he needs to…
No, this isn’t the time. He puts everything he has into breathing without making too much sound, the air thick and thin at once in the confines of his visor.
The next one comes, and the sensation in his clit winds sharper, making him instinctively squeeze his legs together. For a moment he feels like the head is about to burst out behind his thighs, but the knight’s hand stays firm, and the head simply bobs where it is, an instant of relief before it returns to a full crown.
“Hah- aah—“ He feels drool tickle one corner of his mouth. His lover holds the head just-so, keeping his cunt stretched to its absolute limit, burning all the way back towards his arse, and that pressure…!
“Okay,” the other knight whispers behind him, “let me try…”
He begins to push the head back in. The birthing knight flinches, his deepest instincts railing against the sensation, but before he can fully register what’s happening, the widest point of the skull digs into that special spot inside him.
Despite clenching his mouth shut, a high moan buzzes in his throat. His baby-heavy hips roll into his lover’s hand, and jolts of pain shock through his paper-thin pussy lips and the stretched flesh inside of his hole, his clit throbbing so strongly that he would have screamed in any other place.
He cums and cums and cums, until tears wet his cheeks and birthing fluid bursts in spurts from his pussy.
The knight behind him simply whispers, “Fuck,” and lets up, allowing the stimulation to ease, though the returning crown chases all of the pleasure with fiery pain.
The birthing knight is left trembling. He doesn’t even have the strength to push when he contracts again, but his body still manages to nudge the baby forward, and his lover responds again by easing the head back in. Lust and fear flood his chest, unsure if he can handle cumming like that again, but it washes over him all the same.
It goes on like that for the rest of the watch. He doesn’t cum with every contraction, but he feels like he will, sometimes teased for several minutes before the next one hits him. Soon there is no thought in his head but the blinding, white-hot pleasure-pain between his legs, and the ecstasy that keeps flooding his body, even as it shivers with pain.
He doesn’t even notice being dismissed by the change of guard, just starts walking blindly when his companion urges him to move, still holding the baby in. The clatter of so much armor drowns out his groans as his wobbling legs struggle to carry him, his ongoing birth feeling like a boiling welt even as he shudders through the aftershocks of his most recent orgasm.
Knowing they won’t make it back to the barracks, the other knight pulls him into the first empty room they pass and pulls the door shut. As he lays his back against the wall, the birthing knight thinks the babe will simply drop out of him the moment it’s no longer held in, but when the other knight starts using both hands to unfasten the cuisses from his thighs, his battered cunt somehow hangs onto the child’s head.
The left cuisse clatters to the floor, then the right, and the other knight reaches for the laces of his trousers. But his body has already tightened again, and he’s already bending at the knees and finally releasing the gravelly, animal groan that’s been building within him as he pushes. For a moment, he fears the head won’t even fit after all of that, but with one last snap of pain that makes him break into a small yelp, the head is born. It stretches his dripping trousers, a sight that leaves his helper speechless for a moment.
He feels the child turning within him, and cringing at the strange sensation, keeps pushing. A shoulder or an elbow digs into that place that makes his clit jump, and with one last gush of fluid, he cums the shoulders out. The child tumbles into his trousers while his pussy spasms and twitches.
While handing him the child, his companion eyes the tender-red place between his legs, dripping with birthing fluid and arousal. “Next time, we need to make sure everyone sees this. They’re not gonna believe me when I tell them how much our boy likes pushing bastards out of his cunt.”
That cunt tightens, and he squeezes his thighs together and whimpers, cumming to the promise of next time.
A ragged breath rips from her throat as she rolls her head forward, grunting softly as her next contraction begins to build. Her legs are spread for you, thighs trembling wildly on either side of the bulge of her cunt. No head is visible yet, but her lips begin to gape and spread as her grunts evolve into a small roar, fluid leaking from her hole as she pushes in earnest.
"Ohhhhh," she groans, half delirious. "Oh, its- OH. It's comingggg." Her nails dig into the flesh of her thigh, face screwed up with effort as she pulls her leg further back. Her cunt bulges obscenely around the emerging head and more fluid leaks from her vagina, coating your fingers in slick as you reach forward to slide the pads of them over her folds. The skin is red, hot to the touch, and she whimpers as she thrusts her hips forward.
"Coming," she repeats, vouce clear with intent. And yes, yes it is. Her labia part as she shrieks with effort, exposing the smallest sliver of wet, dark hair. "I- I'm pushing. I'm pushing! I can't stoppppp."
Despite the bulge of the head in her canal, the crown of which has spread her labia to the point of turning her soft folds bloodless and white (oh, the burn must be delicious, if her cries tell you anything about the sensations she's experiencing), her shaking thighs attempt to snap shut, trapping your hand against her cunt. "Mmmmmphhh!" Her chin hits her chest as she pushes again, grinding her sore and swollen clit against your fingers. "'S it- can you- fuck! Oh, fuck. I need it ouuuuuuut."
The vice grip in her belly releases, the sides of it heaving around the shape of the child as she struggles to catch her breath. "So low," she moans quietly, comtinuing to rock her hips. "God, the stretch-."
And... well, fuck. The stretch. The burn. The teardrop shape playing peekaboo behind her lips. You brush your thumb over her clit, inhaling sharply as she whimpers in a way that let's you know she's preparing to push. "Ohhhh, its gonna come. Its coming. Its-." Her words break off rapidly, and the only sound that escapes her is a wild scream as the head surges forward. She makes an attempt to twist away from you, thighs clamped tightly around your hand as she shrieks and struggles to hold the child in.
"MMMMM, FUCK. BURNINGGGG!"
You press against the bulge of her crown, applying the smallest hint of pressure. With a small hiss, she forces her eyes open and turns to you, panting sharply as the child continues its descent. Her eyes are wild and wet with tears, and you appease her with a gentle smile and a soft kiss as you shift closer to pry her legs back open.
Completely naked, spread, and exposed, she hisses and struggles to no avail. The child sits at half crown; her clit is hard and pulsing against the ridge of its skull, and her labia are shiny with amniotic fluid and what you know to be her own arousal. Maybe you'll have a taste, you muse.
As her belly tightens once more and a groan builds in her throat, you shift your hand just slightly to completely cover her rapidly spreading hole. "Oh, you really can't stop, can you baby?" you croon, experiencing a jolt of arousal as the head surges forward against your hand. "Pushing like that? So... uncontrolled?"
"Get it out," she pleads. "I-holy FUCK, I need it out."
You wait a beat. Feel her push. Feel the head slip further out (nearly to the brow bone that time; you can hear the little noises she makes when it grinds against a sweet spot inside) and feel it retreat. Feel her go limp as she slumps back against the edge of the bed behind her, legs falling open as the bulge has become too prominent to deny.
"Oh, baby girl," you murmur, giving her clit one last gentle stroke to invoke a sleepy smile in return. She must think she's close. Poor thing. The size of the head, as well as the yet unseen shoulders, would disagree. "Is it starting up again?"
"Mhm." Roughly 15 seconds later, she hums again, reaching down to pull her legs back once more. "Mmmmm, here it comes. Oh, its gonna be out soon."
You beg to differ, but you don't dare tell her so.
Another push begins with a ragged scream that rises from the depth of her chest. "ffffFFFFUCK GET IT OUT. I WANT IT OUT."
"Then push," you command. "Be a good girl, and push."
there’s something so sexy to me about not knowing you’re in labor and giving those first, naive, confused pushes. wondering why you’re feeling this urge. the brief moment of bewildered horror as you feel a huge weight shift down inside of you. there being no physical evidence that you’re giving birth yet, but just knowing deep inside your body that a baby is moving downwards, ready to make its inevitable entrance into the world.
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